I remember my weekly calls with my “Vovo” Luisa. She lived in Brazil but we always kept in touch. She would start every call by telling me she had my picture on her bedside and that she prayed for me every night. She’d tell me she missed my curls bouncing around the house. Over the years, Alzheimer’s took her memories and our calls got shorter and shorter, and she would eventually forget who the little girl in the photo was. Regardless, I always felt her love when I got to visit and squeeze her hand in person, reminding her of our talks; deep down, her gentle soul was still there.
Submitted by Jordana P.